


Wiltshire

by JillianJane



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-16 15:02:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17551892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JillianJane/pseuds/JillianJane
Summary: Harry and Gareth's weekend away together doesn't quite go to plan.





	Wiltshire

It’s just before nine on a Friday June evening and Harry is in his car on the outskirts of London waiting for Gareth to join him, when they will head to Cherhill, a small village in Wiltshire, for the weekend. They ought to have been there by now but Gareth had called him that morning to apologise because something had come up at the last minute. Harry had feared he would cancel their trip altogether but Gareth had explained he would be a few hours late. He had suggested meeting Harry there but Harry had insisted on picking him up. He wants as much time together as they can get this weekend and that includes the drive there and back. It hasn’t been long since they last saw one another but it has been a while since they’ve been _together_ , and Harry’s whole body is humming in anticipation. As far as he’s concerned, if they rarely leave the bedroom this weekend he will consider it time excellently spent.

He switches off the radio, which had been reporting the day’s sports news, and smiles as he looks in the rear-view mirror. Gareth is walking towards his car. He has clearly come straight from his late meeting, as he’s still in his suit. He’s carrying the grey jacket, his shirt sleeves rolled up a bit, collar open, and gone is the tie. It’s not the image of the usually impeccably dressed England manager but Harry’s heart quickens as it always does at the sight of him. 

Gareth opens the left rear door and puts his small suitcase and suit jacket on the seat before closing the door and joining Harry in the front. He smiles at Harry.

“Hello blondie.”

Harry releases his seat belt and reaches over, hands cupping Gareth’s face as he kisses him, tilting his head to get a better angle so he can kiss him more deeply and liking the moan he pulls from him as he does. When they part, their foreheads touch briefly and they smile at each other.

“I’m sorry for the delay,” Gareth says.

“It’s okay. I was worried you were cancelling the whole thing. A few hours longer to wait is nothing compared to that.”

Gareth brings Harry back to him for a gentle press of lips.

 

 

“What are you reading?” Harry asks.

“Against my better judgement, the comments section of an article about you.”

“Ouch.” Harry replies, wryly.

“Actually, you might be surprised,” Gareth says, “the article is about you changing someone’s opinion of you, and others are agreeing. It seems some people didn’t realise how good your all-round game is. I’m not sure what version of you they’ve been watching until now but at least they’re admitting they were wrong. There’s one person here who found themselves pleasantly surprised by how deft your touch is, and indeed it is. Hopefully it’ll be put to good use this weekend.” 

Gareth doesn’t look at him as he says this and his tone suggests complete innocence. Harry thinks he should probably roll his eyes at him for that one but instead he feels his cheeks grow warm and out of the corner of his eye he catches the slight twitch of Gareth’s lips. He doesn’t know why, after all they’ve shared together, he sometimes still feels shy around Gareth. But occasionally Gareth will say something, or give him a certain look or smile, and Harry will feel shy. He likes it, though.

“Did you bring a football, then?” he asks, going for innocence, too, but probably failing. “Am I going to have a kick-about over the weekend?”

Gareth chuckles, and Harry smiles. He switches the windscreen wipers on, as the forecast rain has arrived. It’s quiet for a while as Gareth continues to read on his iPad while Harry drives through the dampening summer night. He likes the comfortable silence. He’s quiet himself and it’s one of the things he’s always liked about Gareth, too, that Harry can just be with him without any demands for attention or anything else. He thinks that they’re similar in many ways. Or perhaps it’s just that Harry admires Gareth so much that he hopes they are.

 

 

It’s after midnight when they arrive, an accident further along the motorway having delayed things for a while. Gareth’s tired after a long day and so they put away the food and drink Harry had bought for the weekend, then call it a night.

Harry happily plays the big spoon.

 

*

 

Harry’s less happy on Saturday morning. He wakes just before seven feeling as though he’s hungover, which is completely unfair considering he hasn’t touched alcohol recently. He looks at Gareth sleeping peacefully beside him and decides he’s going to do all he can to pull himself together. He won’t have their weekend spoiled because his head and stomach have decided to take the piss out of him. A shower and some breakfast seem like the best way to make him feel better.

They do, but not for long.

 

 

Harry feels a sharp twinge in his stomach just as he’s about to start preparing some lunch. He ignores it and opens the fridge to get some salad. As he does so, he hears the unmistakable quack of a duck. Startled, he turns to see such a creature just coming in through the open French windows. 

“Where did you come from?” 

The duck quacks back at him and comes further inside the dining room. Harry is about to head towards it when its offspring appear and begin following their mother into the house. Harry counts one, two, three, four…eleven of the things. He reaches for a tea towel and moves towards the family, however mother duck sees this as a threat to her ducklings and darts at him.

“Okay, whoa there. I’m not going to hurt your kids but you need to go back outside. Go on, shoo!” He tries to use the towel to guide her back out but she’s clearly agitated and considers him the enemy. The ducklings, meanwhile, seem oblivious to the situation and move towards the table and chairs, passing under them and spreading in different directions.

“Shit. Gareth! Gareth!” 

The man called for comes down the stairs. “Where’s the fire?”

“We have visitors,” Harry tells him, gesturing at the duck family with the towel, which only serves to anger the mother even further. She goes for Harry’s shins and he jumps out of the way.

Gareth laughs. “Probably shouldn’t tell her we’re having duck for dinner.”

Harry swears the quack that follows sounds very indignant but it’s Harry she goes for again. He glares at the still laughing Gareth.

“Don’t just stand there laughing! Help me get them out of here!”

“How many ducklings are there?”

“Eleven.”

Gareth whistles. “Lucky mum.”

Harry is thinking something else entirely. He curses that the downstairs is open plan and looks for a way to block the path out of the dining room. Gareth, meanwhile, saunters over to the kitchen. Harry keeps an eye on the wandering ducklings but glances over to see Gareth retrieve a bag of kale. He raises an eyebrow.

“They like it, apparently, and it’s better not to feed them bread. It’s just to tempt them back out.” Gareth opens the bag and begins to drop a few small pieces on the floor. Then he whistles. “Come on, then.” More whistles. 

Harry watches in amazement as the ducklings race over to the kale and begin eating happily. Gareth leaves enough pieces so that each duckling gets one and he puts some out for their mother, who seemingly decides that he can be trusted and she turns her back on Harry to join her little ones. Gareth moves backwards out of the French windows, leaving kale as he goes and the duck family follows him out. 

Gareth smiles up at Harry. “I’ve never seen any duck turn down food.” He leaves them to their green snack and returns inside, closing the windows behind him.

“I guess we can’t leave them open all day,” Harry reflects.

“Best not to,” Gareth agrees and he heads on to the kitchen.

Harry’s about to start washing some lettuce leaves when the twinges he’s been feeling suddenly become a warning pain and he knows straight away that he’s going to be sick. He drops what he’s doing and dashes up the stairs, desperately hoping he makes it to the bathroom in time. He does, just. Moments later, Gareth comes in right as Harry’s finished throwing up his breakfast. 

“Harry!”

He groans, sticking out an arm to try to keep him away. If this is a stomach bug, Gareth could catch it. 

“No,” is all he can whine before round two seizes him and what’s left of yesterday’s meals follows his breakfast down the toilet. He moans pitifully as he flushes it away.

Gareth is beside him, rubbing his back.

“Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling well?” he asks softly.

Harry shakes his aching head. Gareth stands up and gets a washcloth, which he runs for a short while under the cold tap before he wrings it.

“I hoped it would go away,” Harry croaks, wincing at the rawness of his throat. 

Gareth places the cloth against Harry’s forehead. It’s a welcome relief.

“Thanks. You should keep away, though. If I’ve got a bug you might catch it.”

Gareth doesn’t heed this advice and remains beside him. “I think it’s probably too late on that score but it wouldn’t matter anyway. I’m not going to leave you on your own, unless that’s what you’d prefer.”

It isn’t. Trembling a little from what his body’s just been through, Harry reaches for one of Gareth’s hands and it’s a comfort when Gareth entwines their fingers. His skin is warm and dry, to Harry’s cool and clammy, and Harry doesn’t realise that he’s shivering until Gareth eases him against his chest and wraps both arms around him. The shivering stops.

After they’re both sure that Harry’s nausea has passed, and after Harry has rinsed his mouth and brushed his teeth, and drank the glass of water Gareth insisted upon, he lets Gareth guide him to the bedroom to lie down. Gareth pulls back the covers and Harry removes his jeans and gets into bed, closing his eyes in relief. A few moments later he feels Gareth slide in beside him and Harry turns to him, Gareth duly wrapping him in his arms, and before he drifts off to sleep Harry hopes that Gareth feels like he gets as much from Harry as he gives to him.

 

*

 

Harry wakes a few hours later to find Gareth beside him, though on top of the covers. He must have gotten up at some point, without waking Harry. Gareth looks at him, his expression all sympathy and it makes Harry snuggle into him. 

“How are you feeling?”

His head’s a little fuzzy, stomach tender, but nothing hurts anymore and he doesn’t feel sick. “A bit better.”

Gareth strokes his hair and runs a soothing hand up and down his back. Harry makes a soft noise of appreciation. 

“Can I get you anything?”

“I’m okay.” He doesn’t think he can face eating anything yet and though a cold drink of water would be good, he doesn’t want Gareth to get up. Harry is warm and comfortable.

“Tell me a story,” he says.

“What kind of story?” Harry can hear the smile in Gareth’s voice.

“One about you.”

“Everyone knows the only story there is to tell about me. I missed the penalty in ‘96.”

Harry is used to Gareth’s self-deprecating manner. It’s a trait others seem to like in him and Harry does, too, though he also wishes that Gareth could see himself the way others do. 

“No. That was one moment in your life. You have other stories to tell.”

“Well, how about if I’d listened to my youth coach at Palace, I wouldn’t have stayed in football? He told me I was too soft and needed to toughen up. In fact, he suggested that I should focus on becoming an estate agent instead.”

Harry smiles to himself. He thinks Gareth would have made a dapper estate agent. He’s sure Gareth could persuade him to buy anything but he knows that might also be the rose-tinted glasses he’s been known to look through occasionally when it comes to the England manager.

“He said I had next to no chance of making it in the game,” Gareth continues, “but it was all I wanted to do. My dream was to play for England. I suppose if I’d listened to him, England might have gotten to the final and maybe won it.”

“Nah, someone else would’ve missed. The Germans would’ve stood there all night banging in penalties.” Harry’s convinced of this. He knows the story, they all do. Gareth had volunteered to take that sudden-death penalty when some of his more experienced and better qualified teammates had declined. That it had all gone wrong makes Harry sad for him. He’s biased in a number of ways, not least because he’s confident in his own penalty-taking ability and he’s the captain, but Harry just can’t imagine letting a less experienced teammate deal with that situation. 

Of course, Harry’s also biased where his feelings for Gareth are concerned.

“If you’d become an estate agent, we’d never have met,” he says.

Gareth chuckles. “Very likely not. I doubt I would have been showing an England captain a potential new home.”

“Though if you had, I would’ve bought it,” Harry says with conviction. It earns him a soft laugh, a kiss to the top of his head, and a hug. 

 

 

Harry enjoys a relaxing soak in the bath while Gareth makes dinner. Harry had told him he wasn’t likely to be able to eat much so Gareth had decided to keep the duck for Sunday’s dinner. Nevertheless, the roast chicken, jacket potatoes and salad still seem like a Herculean meal to Harry’s stomach, and so they prove. He looks at Gareth apologetically.

“It’s okay, Harry. The chicken will keep in the fridge in case you feel like a sandwich later, or for lunch tomorrow. Is there anything else you’d like? Some fruit?”

He can’t manage another bite, even though he has eaten very little, but he thinks a cup of tea might be nice so he sets about making one, Gareth clearing away the dishes.

They curl up on the sofa, Harry with his tea, Gareth with a glass of wine, and pay vague attention to a James Bond film while exchanging quiet chit-chat. 

Harry falls asleep on Gareth’s shoulder before the film ends.

 

*

 

Harry’s quite grumpy to find it’s past noon when he wakes up on Sunday. Talk about wasting the weekend. His bloody stomach bug has put a big dent in things. Gareth is not in the bedroom and his side of the bed has clearly been empty for hours. Harry thinks of the lazy Sunday morning sex they could have had but didn’t, and sighs. 

He gets out of bed and immediately wobbles, light-headed from lack of food rather than reoccurring sickness. He heads to the bathroom to pull himself together with a shower before he dresses and goes downstairs, where he finds Gareth out in the garden with his iPad. It’s a nice day again, sunny and warm. The Cherhill White Horse cut into the hillside gleams in the distance. Sparrows chirp away noisily, occasionally interrupted by a more melodious blackbird.

“Good afternoon, sleepyhead.” Gareth’s smile is affectionate.

Harry is irritated with himself still but he manages a sheepish smile for Gareth.

“Sorry,” he says, “I didn’t think I’d need that much sleep.”

“But you obviously did so it’s good you got it,” Gareth says amiably. He puts his iPad aside and stands. “You must be hungry now. What can I get you?”

Harry’s stomach makes an embarrassing gurgling sound as if on cue. He reddens and Gareth chuckles.

“I’ll make something, scrambled eggs I think. You’ve done enough this weekend,” Harry says.

“I don’t mind, Harry. Enjoy some sunshine, I won’t be long. Would you like some tea?”

“Please.” He reaches for Gareth, brings him close. “I’m making dinner tonight.”

Gareth smiles. “Or we both can.”

“Nope. You are going to relax with some wine and leave it to me. It’s the least I can do.” And before Gareth can say anything else Harry kisses him, a kiss he admits promises more than it delivers. If he didn’t need some food he would be taking Gareth upstairs right now.

As he so often does Gareth guesses Harry’s thoughts, and his eyes twinkle. “Soon, blondie.”

 

 

Another thing that Harry likes about Gareth is his thoroughness. In most things he does Gareth is thorough, which is definitely great when it comes to sex. Even if it sometimes tests Harry’s patience, he knows the reward will be worth it. Gareth is being very gentle with him now and he doesn’t really need to be; they’re both sure whatever had ailed Harry has passed. But despite being gentle Gareth seems to decide that it doesn’t preclude him from tickling Harry.

“Don’t you think it’s unfair to tickle me, knowing I laugh so much my stomach aches? After all, my stomach has been upset this weekend.”

Gareth’s smile is beguiling. “Nope.” 

Harry is tickled again for protesting and he squirms, laughing once more. He knows that’s why Gareth does it, to hear him laugh. His stomach is brushed with a kiss and he gasps as Gareth rubs his cheek against it, beard scraping the soft skin before he moves on. As he so often does Gareth maps every inch of Harry’s skin, leaving goose pimples and quivering muscles in his wake. Harry makes a needy sound and Gareth looks at him and smiles, a smile Harry gets to taste a moment later when Gareth kisses him, a long, slow kiss, tongue sliding against Harry’s in a way that sends heat pooling in his groin. Gareth seems to forget himself for a moment, rocking against Harry in the best possible way. Patience is one thing, he thinks, but if Gareth is inclined to move things along, he certainly doesn’t mind. There is only so much patience anyone can have when they’ve been longing for this for weeks.

Gareth eases back a moment to reach for the lube and Harry takes a steadying breath, which does little good really because his heart is thumping in anticipation. He closes his eyes, can feel Gareth settle close again, and then he feels a finger slide slowly into him. He breathes in sharply.

“Okay?” Gareth asks softly.

“Yeah.” 

Gareth runs his free hand over Harry’s abdomen but there’s no chance for him to relax because that finger curls and he nearly jackknifes on the bed.

“Fuck!” he hisses, the sensation almost too much. It’s been too long since he’s felt this and his nerves are on fire. Gareth leans down and brushes a kiss against his lips and he tries to centre himself, waiting. Gareth adds a second finger and this time Harry is ready for it, pushing back and wanting more. He knows Gareth will continue until he’s satisfied that Harry is ready but it doesn’t stop Harry from trying to hurry him along.

By the time Gareth finally begins to guide himself into Harry’s waiting body, inch by torturous inch, Harry is scrabbling at his shoulders, desperately trying to hang on and making sounds that should probably embarrass him but don’t. His absolute trust in Gareth means he feels secure in who he is with him; he doesn’t hide from him.

Gareth rocks his hips, slowly, letting Harry get used to things again but Harry is fine and pushes back encouragingly. Gareth gives him what he needs, moving harder, deeper, and Harry responds, neither of them missing a stroke. Time seems to stretch, or maybe it falls away altogether. All Harry knows is the two of them, the scent and taste of Gareth’s skin, the push and drag of his cock inside him. Everything tightens, grows hot, pulse rushing in his ears. He feels Gareth take him in hand, long fingers wrapping around where he’s hard and aching, and Harry both wants it yet doesn’t. He knows it will hasten him towards completion but he doesn’t want it to be over. Still he pushes up into the fingers stroking him just right and when Gareth hits the spot inside of him that makes all the nerve-endings fire, Harry willingly gives up his cry of Gareth’s name. 

Gareth leans down and kisses him. Through heavy-lidded eyes Harry looks up at Gareth as he approaches his own release, watches as he grits his teeth, eyes shut tightly, his hips stuttering. His choked out gasp is followed by a cry before he falls trembling into Harry’s arms. Harry presses his lips to Gareth’s temple, feels the frantic beating of his pulse, and strokes his hands down Gareth's back.

It’s quiet for some time while they come back to themselves. Harry slips out of bed and heads to the bathroom to clean himself up and returns with a warm washcloth to do the same for Gareth. Then he slides back between the sheets. Gareth is on his side, facing him.

“Hi,” Harry says softly.

Gareth smiles, and it’s a gentle, beautiful thing. “Hi.”

Harry reaches for one of his hands, their fingers interlacing.

“How are you feeling?” Gareth asks.

“Pretty much perfect,” Harry replies, a smile on his lips, “except…”

“Except?”

“I’m hungry.” 

Gareth’s laugh is soft but his shoulders shake with it, and Harry grins.

 

 

Dinner turns out rather well if Harry does say so himself, though it undoubtedly helped that he followed Gareth’s instructions for the plum sauce to a tee. Gareth enjoys it, which is the most important thing as far as Harry’s concerned. And it’s just as important that Gareth knows how grateful Harry is for everything which is why, when they tumble back into bed later that evening, he shows him again and again until Gareth is shaking beneath him, chanting Harry’s name with a reverence that sends Harry over the edge after him.

Gareth curls into him and Harry keeps him close.

“Thank god it wasn’t a forty-eight hour bug,” he says.

Gareth chuckles.

 

*

 

“I think that’s everything,” Gareth says, with a last look around. “Have you forgotten anything?”

“No.” Harry puts his phone in his pocket, watches Gareth leave the house keys on the table by the front door. "I'm really glad you haven't been unwell, too, but if that changes in the next day or so, you will let me know, won't you? I'd deserve to feel guilty." 

"No you wouldn't, Harry. What you had may not have been contagious anyway. You might have just eaten something which disagreed with you."

"If I did, I wish I knew what it was so I don't eat it again. I'm not eager to repeat that experience."

Gareth gives him a sympathetic look. “Shall we go, then?” 

Harry stops him, pulling him into his arms and kissing him, long and slow and sweet.

“What was that for?”

“Do I need a reason?”

“Well, no. It’s just that it felt like there was a certain intention there.”

Harry smiles at how well Gareth knows him. “It was a thank you.”

“For what?” Gareth’s voice is soft.

“For this weekend. It was your present to me, for us. It didn’t quite go to plan but I won’t forget it. Thank you for taking care of me. You’re always so gentle. It’s…just really nice.” Harry feels his cheeks warm a bit as he says this. That shyness again.

Gareth smiles and cups one of his cheeks, thumb caressing Harry’s rosy skin. 

“You’re welcome, Harry.”

They leave the house and on the way to Harry's car they pass the duck family which had visited on Saturday. They have no food for them now but Harry offers a placatory greeting to the mother and tries not to think of yesterday's dinner.

"They're really cute kids you've got there," he says.

The mother duck quacks and Harry takes that as agreement. He looks over at Gareth, and they both smile. 


End file.
